


Ice Age

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [24]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen and Ryan end up in a difficult situation in a blizzard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Age

**Some say the world will end in fire;  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To know that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice.** Fire and Ice, by Robert Frost

* * *

“Ryan, leave it. There’s no way up.” Stephen Hart crouched against the rocks, shivering violently.

Snow drifted down into the crevasse and the light was fading fast.

Reluctantly, the soldier conceded the point and worked his way carefully back down the rock-face. He’d got three metres up this time, but a lethal combination of ice and an impossible overhang had finally forced common-sense to prevail.

He glanced at Hart, taking in the pinched white face, eyes that looked black in the shadows and lips that were already taking on a nasty bluish tinge.

“Get into that survival bag, you fucking idiot.”

Hart shook his head. “Not big enough for two of us. Use a knife, split the sides and we’ll share.”

Ryan shook his head. “Not the way you’re dressed. Get in it or I’m just going to thump you and do it the quick way.”

It was clearly a measure of how cold he was that Hart didn’t argue.

Ryan at least had the benefit of several layers of clothing, including combat jacket, tac-vest and gloves, but to his lover’s amazement, the soldier started to strip.

“Are you crazy?”

Ryan grinned, “If only I had a camera, sweetie, your face is a picture.” He chucked his tee shirt onto the survival bag and dressed again as fast as he could manage, gloved hands fumbling on the fastenings. Then, quickly and efficiently, he twisted the still-warm material around his lover’s head, tucking the ends under, making sure ears and neck were covered. “60% of heat loss is through the head,” he commented, gesturing to the black fleece hat jammed down over his own ears.

“Bet I look a twat.”

The soldier nodded. “Yep, can’t disagree with that, but it might help you stay a live twat, so stop glaring. It was clean on this morning. Could be worse, this could have happened yesterday. That one hummed a bit.”

They settled themselves down under the overhang, on a patch of bare rock, pressed together as closely as they could, the survival bag drawn up round Stephen’s neck, with arms and hands inside, wrapped round his body in a desperate search for warmth.

Stephen reckoned that a sweaty tee shirt would hardly have made matters worse. They were tapped in an icy crevasse, thanks to an irate mammoth, (what was it with him and mammoths recently?) with a snowstorm raging overhead, and frankly, their chances of surviving this were getting smaller by the minute.

He twisted in Ryan’s arms and buried his nose in his lover’s neck. Avoiding frostbite was his excuse, but the honest truth was he just found it comforting. And in other circumstances the smell of soap and cordite that seemed to cling to the soldier like a peculiar Special Forces aftershave would have shot straight to his groin, but right now, his blood supply was occupied with other things, more important things, like keeping him alive.

“Wriggle your toes,” murmured a voice in his ear.

Obediently, he complied with the instruction, but couldn’t disguise the jolt of pain that shot through him from his injured ankle. Ryan’s arms tightened protectively. “Lucky not to have bust it,” muttered Stephen. “Do you think they’ll have got the kid back through alright?”

Ryan nodded, and not just for effect. The others had been almost back to the anomaly when the blizzard had struck. He and Hart had been bringing up the rear, with Kermit, holding off the mammoth.

The tranquillizer darts hadn’t slowed it down one iota and his lover had been lucky not to get trampled when a long, hairy trunk had snatched the rifle and flung it into the wind to crash against a rock. At this rate, Lester’d be sending out a bill for lost or damaged kit. That was the second dart gun in two weeks, and the bloody things weren’t cheap.

Then a snow bridge over a hidden crack in the earth had given way and he and Hart’d fallen. They were bloody fortunate that they’d landed mostly intact, although the snow had helped with that. Ryan’s arm had taken the brunt of his fall and it would no doubt bruise wickedly, but neither of them had broken anything.

He’d yelled to Kermit telling him that they were both alive, but he had no way of knowing whether the lad had heard him over the trumpeting of the mammoth and the howl of the wind. Being ten metres down probably hadn’t helped much either. The Special Forces leader consoled himself with the thought that in his line of work you never believed a team-mate was dead unless you’d seen the body.

Ryan had taken a quick look at his lover’s ankle but had opted to jam the boot back on quickly before the inevitable swelling made that impossible. The boot itself would act as a splint. There was nothing to be gained by leaving it off.

“Where are your hands?”

“Usual place. At the end of my arms.” Ryan’s teeth nipped his nose, warningly. “In my armpits, where they’re meant to be. I’m not a total fuckwit.”

“Good, keep them there.”

“What are our chances, Ryan? And I’d rather you didn’t dress it up.”

The soldier was glad it was now too dark for Hart to see the expression on his face. He wasn’t a bad liar, but the other man knew him too well by now for concealment to be easy, especially in such close proximity.

“We aren’t going to freeze to death inside of a few hours. And Lyle’s got ropes and harnesses in the van. The bugger never travels unprepared, in case he finds a sodding cave. Give ‘em an hour, maybe more and they’ll be back.”

Or they would be if it wasn’t blowing a bloody white-out up there by now. Lyle’s a necky sod, but he’s not a fucking maniac. He’ll wait until it blows over, he’ll have to. And by then will the anomaly even be open?

Ryan pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Keep a positive attitude. The first rule the survival instructors drilled into all of them. OK, the guys who chanted that like a mantra didn’t have much experience of being stuck god only knew when in a bleedin’ hole in the ground in a snow storm, but they weren’t dead yet, that was the main thing.

He had more experience of operating in hot arid regions than the arctic, and his one foray into the north of Greenland wasn’t one he remembered with any particular fondness, but he knew the basics.

Keep warm. Easier said than done. Keep moving your fingers and toes. Not too difficult, just a bit painful in Hart’s case. Wrinkle your face. Easy one. He was always being told he frowned too much. Stay awake. That was going to be the hard one. Extreme cold brought lethargy along like an unwelcome guest. He was also concerned about whether Hart had concussion from the fall, so he didn’t want him dozing off.

Keeping track of time got progressively harder. He tried talking. It wasn’t madly successful. When Stephen Hart wanted to go to sleep he could be a bloody-minded little bugger and he had a soldier’s knack of kipping anywhere, under any conditions. Useful, under different circumstances, but not to be encouraged here.

“Hart,” Ryan’s voice was low, but insistent, “wake up. Move your hands and feet again. Come on! Wrinkle your nose, you know it makes you look cute!”

“Don’t do cute,” the voice now sounded slightly slurred and Ryan’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch.

“You’ve got eyelashes any girl’d kill for, so believe me, lover-boy, you do cute, whether you like it or not, now wrinkle your sodding nose or I’ll bite it, just to test your circulation.”

“Tha’ll leave a wet patch. Wet’s bad.”

OK, not too far gone yet, but his speech was still more slurred than the soldier would have liked. Ryan tried again. “Count backwards from a hundred.”

Hart’s sigh was starting to sound bad-tempered. “Hundred ….. ninety-nine ….. ninety-eight …. ninety-seven …… oh fuck off, Ryan, this is bloody silly.”

The Special Forces captain grinned in the darkness, he was sounding more like the grouchy lover who hated it when he lost the fight for the duvet and retaliated by planting cold feet on the back of Ryan’s legs.

“Well if you won’t do that, talk dirty. You’re good at that. Tell me what you like best. Or what you want to do to me, or something. Do that and if you’re a good boy and stay awake, I might even let you do it for real when we get out of here.”

Providing it doesn’t involve blood. It was never wise to be too rash committing to something with Hart. His tastes could be a little extreme on occasions.

“Mmmm,” that provoked a definite snuggle reaction, so he was clearly working along the right lines, even though he didn’t recall any of the standard survival text-books recommending this kind of oral sex, or any other kind for that matter, as a means of keeping people awake.

“Come on, sweetpea. Verbal responses only, and keep your hands in your armpits!”

“Mouth’s cold …”

My whole fucking body’s cold! “Turn your head so I can get at it ……… there, that’s better, OK ……” Ryan managed to manoeuvre his lips over Hart’s and gave him a careful kiss, feeling icy cold lips under his tongue, but trying to avoid getting too much moisture onto the dry, already cracked surfaces. “Now come on, talk to me, what do you want to do when we get out of here ……..?”

“Fuck you ……. hot shower ……..no oil ……….”

Well, it didn’t take a genius to guess that one. A hot shower was pretty high on his own agenda right now, actually no, sod the shower, what he really wanted was a bath. A bath so hot that ever inch of skin would turn lobster-red. Come to think of it, they’d never shagged in the bath. Probably because they’d never had a room with a big enough bath …

“OK, good start.” Ryan pressed his mouth onto his lover’s lips again, working his tongue past gently chattering teeth, bit of a risk, but one he was prepared to take. “But bound to be some soap or something in a shower, so not really dry enough for you, darling, come on, try again ……… bedroom ……. what next?”

“Tie you down …….. wouldn’t trust you not to rip my fuckin’ head off otherwise ……”

Ryan’s tongue slid in again and his kiss got harder. Hart was still too passive for his liking. He deliberately pushed at his lover’s bad ankle, just to provoke a reaction, and only just retracted his tongue in time ……….

“Bastard ……. definitely tie you down ……… specially if we’re gonna do it dry …….. always wanted to try that since you did me that way ……… felt good ………. fucking hurt ………but still good ……… yeh, wanna try that on you.”

I know you do, but I’m not quite such a pain-junkie as you, blue-eyes, and I do have some respect for my arse ……… even if you don’t ………

“So, no gun-oil? You don’t reckon I’d play along if I wasn’t tied down?”

“Doubt it ……. fuckin’ hurts ……..”

Ryan grinned. The boy still needed some serious reconditioning but now really wasn’t the time or the place, “Right, so I’m tied down …….. so what next?”

“Finger ….. “

The soldier chuckled directly into his lover’s mouth, breath warm on his lips, tongues touching and sliding ……… “Only a finger? Thought you’d go straight for broke, darling?”

Hart’s answering laugh was little more than a shaky breath, “You’re too fucking tight and you’ve got ass-muscles like iron, have I ever told you that?”

“You have mentioned it a couple of times, sweetie, usually when you’re buried balls deep and biting. So, you reckon a finger’ll help?”

Stephen caught Ryan’s lips with his own, but this time there was less of a chatter from his teeth, which wasn’t good. All they could expect in this situation was to keep the heat loss to a minimum, but they wouldn’t warm up, and shivering was actually the body’s way of trying to maintain heat. When a hypothermic casualty stops shivering, that’s when you really need to worry.

“No, but a couple’ll loosen you up a bit ………. normally does ………”

“Thought you wanted it to hurt?”

“Yeh, but gotta be practical, Ryan, gotta get in first ……..”

Ryan rubbed his cheek against his lover’s face, even doing the Eskimo rubbing noses thing. Did they really do that, or was it a piss-take? Hart’s skin felt dry, like parchment, but didn’t yet have the waxy feel of frostbite.

Come on, Lyle, I’m not sure we can afford to sit this one out, mate. With enough rope, maybe you could make it back here, even through the snow. Give it a try, Jon, and I’ll never moan about you scamming off for a caving trip again. Honest.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed and he didn’t want to try and manoeuvre a look at his watch just yet. Too tricky to make the damn thing light up wearing gloves anyway. Nor did he want reality to sink in too quickly. The brutal truth was that he doubted more than half an hour had passed and already he was bone-cold. He’d lost sensation in both hands and feet, and wriggling fingers and toes wasn’t helping much, but he kept doing it and telling Hart to do the same.

“So, come on, I’m tied down and you’re finger-fucking me and it’s dry and it hurts. By the way, have I ever told you you’re a romantic little bastard? Other blokes get taken out for a curry or something, but your idea of a good time’s bondage and a dry-fuck, jeez, where’d I land you from?”

“You snogged me first,” Hart retaliated, with perfect truth.

Ryan laughed and went back to kissing him, tongues still blissfully warm, and just for a few short moments he managed to pretend that the rest of his body felt the same. Christ, that was a bloody joke. Was it possible to get a frost-bitten arse? He rather thought it was, but he didn’t remember his Arctic Survival Instructor mentioning arses. Except when he was advising them to take a crap inside the shelter, then pack it away tidily for disposal later. God, those courses were fun. Not.

“You’re not concentrating, lover boy. You’ll never get what you want at this rate. If I’m gonna let you inflict God knows what damage on my poor defenceless arse, you’re gonna have to earn the privilege, now stay awake or I’ll kick your ankle again,” and just to make the point, Ryan nudged the other man’s foot and felt him jerk sideways.

Good. Not totally numb yet.

“Sadistic fucker ……..”

Ryan was trying to warm his own nose up by rubbing it against Stephen’s cheek, so his reply was somewhat muffled, “Look who’s talking ……… and speaking of talking ………get on with it, a guy could die of boredom, as well as cold, waiting for your fantasies to get somewhere interesting ……….”

“OK, two fingers …….. no oil ……..and you’re gonna find that’s hurting now ….” Yeah, and I ain’t gonna be cooperating, at least not quite this quick ……… “feels dry ……… raspy……….burning …….not right, and you don’t like it ………”

Ryan felt a slight twist low down in his stomach and he realised the idea was starting to have a certain appeal. Hart wasn’t the only one with skewed pleasure/pain responses but there were times when that fact could come in handy, especially in this job …………

“Says who, darling? Feels pretty good to me, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“Three fingers… stretchin’ now, Ryan, hurtin’, maybe? Na, knowin’ you, you’re startin’ to like it, aren’t you ……. d’ya want fuckin’ properly? Mmm? Shall I bite your neck, you know that always gets you going?”

Just to make the point, Stephen jammed his tongue into his lover’s mouth and immediately, Ryan tightened his arms and deepened the kiss, but it was obvious the other man was finding it hard to keep talking, to keep his mouth moving.

Lyle, come on, really needing you right now, mate!

He was losing Hart to unconsciousness, and he was sure now that concussion as well as cold was the cause. The other man’s speech was getting too slurred, too quiet.

“Hart, stay with me, you idle sod! You can kip later, when we’re out of here!” He poked at his lover’s ankle with his foot, but this time there was no reaction. “Hart! Stephen! Wake up!”

Ryan felt movement. The survival bag rustled and a cold nose tried to insinuate itself under his ear.

But the activity didn’t last long.

Time passed and it just got fucking colder. Eventually, he knew that if he didn’t try to move, he’d stand no chance, no chance at all, but moving around in the dark would just be suicidal. It felt like they were on sold rock here, but parts of the floor of the crevasse had been covered with snow and could easily conceal more pit-falls. He managed to drag the torch out of his pocket and fumbled with the switch.

Hart’s alabaster skin made his heart sink to the bottom of an already leaden stomach. Black eyelashes stood out in stark contrast against deathly pale cheeks above lips which were an unhealthy colour of blue. Ryan held the torch in his mouth and did his best to rub some life back into nose, cheeks and chin, to keep the blood supply moving.

Then he looked at his watch.

Jesus H. Christ. They’d been down here no more than an hour. Shit. If Lyle and Cutter had decided to try and wait out the storm, they didn’t have a hope in hell of getting out of here alive. Even without the wind chill factor, it was more than cold enough to freeze their bollocks off, and half-concussed, he’d be lucky if Hart lasted another hour.

By the light of the small but powerful torch he looked up. Snow fluttered down into the crack in the rocks, mainly drifting on the other side, but some seemed to be settling on the grey foil survival bag. Hart lay huddled on the rocks, unmoving.

Don’t leave me, you little sod. Not now, not like this. Not when I’ve just started to unravel the mess in your head ………… and mine.

Lyle, come on, mate, what’s keeping you?

It was full dark up there now, with the snowstorm still blowing a whiteout. More in hope than expectation, he kept the beam shining upwards, angled out of the hole, trying to ignore the overhang of snow and some nasty looking icicles, at least as long as his arm, hanging down like the fucking Sword of Damocles. He comforted himself with the thought that at least if they did fall, it would be into the other side of the crevasse. The curving rock face at least sheltering them from that sort of hazard.

Would the guys even manage to find there way back here? Not much fucking chance of that, if truth be told, but they weren’t dead yet, and he wasn’t going down without a fight. For ten minutes, Ryan forced himself into movement, to keep the circulation going in his arms and legs, but he was getting tired now, so tired it hurt, and Hart wasn’t the only one desperate for sleep.

Ryan shone the torch on his lover’s face again. In the white light of the LED, he looked like one of those grim photos of the dead climbers on the summit of Everest. Marble skin, frozen for ever in its final expression.

His own mouth set in a hard, implacable line, Ryan knelt at his lover’s side and felt for Stephen’s injured ankle with both hands. With a sharp, brutal twist, he dragged the other man out of unconsciousness.

Hart’s eyes were wide with pain, blinking in the light of the torch, shrinking away from the beam, away from the hurt.

“Don’t fucking leave me!” Ryan leant forward and captured the other man’s face in his hands, “Don’t you dare die on me, Stephen, do you hear me?”

The faintest of grins lifted Hart’s cracked lips. “Did you just call me Stephen? Christ, Ryan, what’d I do to deserve that?”

You nearly died on me, that’s what. “Go to sleep again and I’ll rip your fucking foot off. Got that?”

A sudden flurry of snow fell heavily into the crevasse and a large rock came hurtling down, narrowly missing the pair of them, and fracturing on another boulder. A flying fragment gouged a bright red furrow across Ryan’s cheek.

The soldier flung himself across his lover, fearing an avalanche.

A voice from above yelled, “Ryan, Hart?”

Relief coursed like warm wine through Ryan’s veins. “What fucking kept you, Lyle? Stopped for tea somewhere?”

“Just a minor matter of Mrs Mammoth and her friends and relatives. Blizzard not helping much either. Status down there?”

“Hart’s got a knackered ankle and concussion. We’re both fucking freezing, but take your time, mate! Drop a few more rocks while you’re at it, why not?”

“Ladder coming down!”

In less than a minute, Lyle had one of his thin metal caving ladders hanging down the overhang, belayed to god knows what, probably someone’s foot, Ryan thought, with grim amusement. Moments later, Ditzy arrived, a tackle bag slung over his shoulder.

A rapid distribution of heat packs followed and in a matter of minutes the medic had Stephen breathing warm air from a face mask through a tube connected to a box incongruously labelled The Little Dragon.

“Get moving, sir,” said Ditzy, “Dr. Hart’ll be fine. Send Finn down as soon as you’re out.”

Ryan opened his mouth to argue and was silenced by one of the medic’s patent behave or I stick a thermometer up your arse looks. The captain grabbed the rope, tied the lifeline round his waist with a clumsy but serviceable bowline, and yelled to Lyle to take up slack on the rope.

Emerging from the crevasse he found himself greeted by a grinning Lyle, belaying the rope around his body as he sat, up to his waist in snow, held from behind by Kermit, and yep, he’d been right, the ladder was indeed fastened to a foot. Blade’s foot.

“If you find a better belay, mate, I’ll be happy to use it,” muttered Lyle. “Now clip onto the line and start moving, we’ll have Hart out before you get back to the anomaly.” In response to Ryan’s shake of the head, the lieutenant added, “That wasn’t a request, sir. You’re more than half way to hypothermia yourself and I don’t want two casualties on my hands. Now trust me, and go! Kermit will follow you as soon as Finn’s down. Then I want him back here, so don’t hang about.”

Half way back to the anomaly, Ryan was forced to admit that Lyle had been right. He was stumbling with cold and exhaustion, unable to feel either hands or feet, and the blackness around him, relieved only by the light of his head-torch was oppressive. Snow swirled thickly and only the thin, nylon diving line, running through a karabiner attached to his belt kept him heading in the right direction.

He didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved to see the fractured light of an anomaly in all the time he’d been working with Cutter’s team.

Connor, looking more than usually bundled up in ill-fitting and un-matching clothes, was waiting impatiently in the snow.

Ryan’s relief started to melt away like snow in sun when he saw the anxious glances the student was giving at his watch as he hopped from foot to foot to keep warm. The captain was also fully aware of what a fading anomaly looked like. He’d seen enough of them recently.

“Connor, how long?” Ryan’s voce was harsh with cold and fear. He’d come too close already today to losing Stephen, and even as he spoke, he was turning back, fumbling to unclip the line at his waist.

“Fifteen minutes, maybe more,” stuttered Connor with the words maybe less clearly branded on his forehead.

“It’s long enough!” said Kermit. The young soldier shot out one hand to his captain’s shoulder. “I need to go back but the lieutenant’s right, you’re in no fit state. We’ll bring him back, sir, trust us!”

Ryan hesitated, fear twisting in his guts.

A fresh voice spoke. “He’s right, man. Come on, or have I got to take a leaf out of your own book? Let your men do their jobs, Captain. They’ll do it quicker without having to worry about you.”

Kermit shot Cutter a grateful glance, and without waiting for a reply from his superior officer, he turned and ploughed back into the snowstorm.

Cutter took advantage of Ryan’s hesitation and propelled him back through the anomaly, into a Hampshire forest on a warm autumn night.

Ryan sat down heavily on a fallen tree trunk and accepted a mug of hot coffee thrust into his hands by a concerned Abby.

No-one spoke and the minutes crawled by.

Ryan shivered so badly that the coffee spilt and he didn’t even notice the blanket that someone draped round his shoulders. His eyes flickered from his watch to the anomaly and back again, watching every minute flip over and feeling every second race by.

After ten minutes he couldn’t stand it any longer and started to get up.

Cutter appeared in front of him, a resigned expression on his face.

A sudden yell from Connor broke the growing tension. The student came hurtling through the broken light and promptly tripped over a rock, falling headlong in an ungainly sprawl.

“They’re right behind me!”

Moments later, the soldiers burst through after him, carrying Stephen on a light, narrow stretcher between the four of them. Connor and Abby promptly cheered and equally promptly looked puzzled as Ryan dumped the blanket on the ground, relief spreading across his face.

Then abruptly he changed direction and started to move towards the rapidly fading anomaly, not the stretcher.

Four? Where was the fifth? Where was Lyle?

Cutter was no more than a pace behind him. “Oh dear God, no ……. no more time, we’re losing it …….”

Then the light broke apart at the exactly the moment Lyle hit the floor of the forest in a rolling dive, the barest second before the anomaly flickered and died.

“Woolly rhino,” gasped the lieutenant, as Ryan dragged him to his feet. “I threatened it with global warming but I don’t think the sod was listening!”

“I don’t think they’re awfully bright,” said Connor, trying to work out how Lyle had managed to come through the anomaly in a running dive whilst still managing to look cool and professional.

“No, but they’re fucking fast,” grinned Lyle. “And the damn thing made me drop my acorn!”


End file.
